The Stalion's Sword
by sarenelsoria
Summary: The healer forces Drogo's spirit into the body of his son. The son grows up dreaming of the life he lead as Drogo, before a magi helps him to remember all of his past. Now he will stop at nothing to return to the woman he once loved, even if it means abandoning all he has ever known and going across the narrow sea for the Queen of Dragons. Future, AU
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

The healer smiled, as she held the babe, fresh from its mother's womb. The child had blue eyes, they were big and beautiful and looked innocently up at her. She felt some guilt about what she was about to do, what she had to do...To take the life of an innocent, oh not directly it would dishonor the Great Shepard to do so and he had been dishonored much of late. Instead she would do exactly as that girl asked, it had not been her fault that Khal Drogo's wound had festered. The curved blade of the Dothraki Bloodriders was rarely kept clean and there had been little that she could do to prevent it from occurring. She had tried and failed to heal him by normal means and those had failed, the Shepard would not blame her, for watching over his lambs.

Now what she did wasn't right, she knew that and she knew that she was about to give Khal Drogo a great deal of suffering, but a part of her believed that he deserved to suffer. After all he had caused the suffering of hundreds of thousands in his time on the great plain, let him see what it was like to be one of the powerless. She chanted over the babe and the Khal, watching as their spirits were exchanged, watching as the Khal's body started to slip into the other world. She forced the spirit to stay inside the body, making it not truly alive, but not dead either, for she could not allow the babe's spirit to live. Not when it had been prophesied that he would take over the world, she would not allow the suffering of so many, not if she could help it.

She cast out a strong sleeping spell, it would make the camp drowsy at first, before they fell into slumber. She then called a woman to her, a woman that had lost her newborn babe in the attack. She made the woman believe that the babe was her own and watched as she wrapped him in swaddling clothes and left the tent. She then cast a memory spell over the entire camp, making them believe that the child had always been with her as well. After that she made sure that the princess wouldn't bleed to death, for all that she was a stupid and trusting child, it would not serve the Shepard well to have her die. The Healer knew that her end would come soon and she found that she didn't care, she had her revenge on the people that had taken everything from her and that was what mattered to her now. She would soon join her Shepard in the sky and he would welcome his servant.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One

_He had been called into his father's tent after lessons. His father stood by his furs, his back turned to his son. "Drogo, I see you have come in from fighting with boys, you are beating all of them, it is time that you fight with men."_

_"Yes Father." Drogo said and smiled, for that was as close to praise as his father got. He was ready to fight with the other warriors, to dance in the circle and to swear loyalty to his father. He was more then ready, he could not wait. Although eventually he would have to go his own way, his Father understood that Drogo would never be content to serve him in the long run. That Drogo would never be content to serve anyone._

**"Wake up lazy boy!" **Someone said and shook Drogo from his sleep.

**"I was minding the flock." **Drogo said still half asleep

**"You were sleeping, lazy boy!"**

**"Its the middle of the day!"**

**"Well you should have thought of how you would be punished, before you stole kitchen knives and did who knows what with them."**

**"You had no proof it was me." **

**"Who else could it have been? Who else would want kitchen knives, other than you?"**

**"Many people, you never know what a good knife can be used for." **He added with a smile and enjoyed watching the color drain from the face of the man. **"If you wake me again, I will return the favor, just not in a way that you might like and if you tell anyone of this conversation..." **Drogo trailed off, it wasn't his fault that he was supposed to have been born among the Dothraki and was born among the Lhazareen, a peaceful people. Drogo supposed peace was fine, as long as it could be kept, as long as there was no fear of being attacked by others. Yet there was never that promise on the plains, even Khalasars were not safe from attack. A man only had his own strength to defend him and the strength of his kinsmen. Drogo's kinsmen were pathetic and had gifted him with a pathetic name, that he hadn't used past his fifth birthday. Most people called him lazy boy, but his family had agreed to call him Drogo, even though they thought him slightly touched in the head. Perhaps he was, after all he had the memories of a past life in his head, for what else could those memories be? In his dreams he did not seem like another person, only one that was allowed to be himself. He longed for the day when he would be old enough to get away from these people, yet he only had sixteen years and he could not leave until the elders allowed him to.

All the boys had to guard the sheep, as well as learn the healing and cooking skills that were so valued by their tribe. Unfortunately for those around him, Drogo was a terrible cook, not very good at taking care of sheep and had no particular desire to memorize the uses of flowers. However his mother had insisted on him learning healing and when she had pointed out that he might one day have to bind what wounds he got from battle, he had started to study with a dedication that he did not have for his other lessons. In another year, he would be able to enter the temple of the Shepard if he wished, but he had no desire to do so. Instead he would use the year of his majority to go off, wherever the sands willed it and never return to the race that had birthed him.

Then he heard the pounding of hooves and ran back home, as the screaming started. The Dothraki war band wasn't even there and already his people bleated like their frightened flocks. He would not scream, save for a war cry and he would ensure the safety of his people, on this day at least. He found the knives and spitting pole where he had left them, taking his healing kit out, he bound the knives to the pole,grabbed the kit and ran outside. He ran to the edge of the village and watched as the riders approached, he waved his makeshift weapon high in the air and the lead rider responded in kind.

"You wish to enact your warrior's rights?" The man asked and Drogo smiled.

"Yes, I Drogo, wish to challenge your Khal, in the understanding that if I defeat him, my people will be left alone, I will be given a horse and an arahk and allowed into your Khalasar for a time."

"And what would I get if you lost?"

"Your honor, surely you can defeat a boy!" Drogo replied and the Khal stared at him.

"A horse is worth more to me, then my honor and what do you have that I cannot take by force, boy?" He demanded.

"There is much I have that you cannot take by force, my life for example is a thing that you might try to take, or the lives of my people, but I would stop you."

"You and what Khalasar?" The Khal demanded and Drogo shrugged.

"I have no Khalasar, I was born to the wrong people and wish to do something to change that."

"You know nothing of our customs, if we gave you a horse, you would fall off of it!"

"Do I not know of your customs, then how are we talking in your language and why would I demand a horse as my blood price, if I did not know how to ride one?"

"A good question, but how did you learn our tongue and our customs?" The Khal demanded. "I doubt that any Dothraki would be caught dead near this stinking city."

"You were and even warriors need healing sometimes." Drogo said and the Khal frowned.

"I doubt highly that any Dothraki would trust the lamb men to heal his wounds, after what happened to your namesake."

"I don't have a namesake and what do you mean?"

"I mean that your people are a bunch of witches and whores." He said and Drogo felt a fire come to his belly, he knew his eyes were shining with his anger, but he couldn't seem to calm down.

"Do not call my people whores or witches, just because one lamb man did something, doesn't mean we are all like that. To accuse us of such, is like saying all Dothraki mate with horses." He fired back defiantly. "It is untrue and more to the point, unfounded." He smiled as the warrior's eyes hardened.

"You are very brave boy, a stupid boy, but a brave one. Very well I will allow another to fight with you and I will let you take your head and not burn your body. You will not be able to go to your gods." He said and Drogo smiled.

"I might surprise you, I did not ask for the death challenge. If you make someone challenge me to the death circle, all that you own will become mine, it would not be an equal exchange." Drogo said and the man stared at him. "I suggest instead the proving challenge, to prove myself worthy of what I ask and to prove that I am not, should we fight till first blood, or would you have all of your chosen warrior's spilled on the sand." He smiled then and saw the warrior blanch for only a moment, before his face became calm passivity.

"I accept your challenge and by my honor will not make it a death match. Alhar, you will fight with this man." He said and Drogo nodded, as young man that seemed to be around his age rode up. He watched as the man dismounted from his horse and the band of warriors formed a ring around them. Someone started to play the war drums and Drogo lost himself to the dance. It was a dance of blood, they circled each other, waiting for any chance for any opening. The Khal struck first, growing impatient and Drogo halted his strike with the spear, before spinning the spear and launching his sword across the circle, he the swiped at the man's wrist and the man stared at him. Drogo then cut off an inch of his hair, as was customary for a lost proving fight. "Will it be as we agreed, or will you go back on your warrior's oath Khal?"

"It will be as we agreed, how did you do that boy?"

"Practice, my people have no weapons to speak of save their staffs. I started playing with staffs as a boy, when I had the chance." He said and smiled, twirling his staff around in a circle of steel, he passed it over one shoulder, then around his back, before going over his head and back down once more. "And I am not a boy, my name is Drogo." He said and the Khal nodded.

"Very well, Drogo, but before you join my band for a time, I would have assurances." The Khal said and Drogo nodded.

"As would I, I will not try to harm you or your men, without challenge, if the same is afforded to me." Drogo said and the Khal nodded.

"How long do you wish to stay with us?" The Khal asked.

"It depends if we fit well, or not, but eventually I would leave. I cannot be subservient to another man, it is not in my nature."

"I see, very well then, is there anything you might wish to take with you?"

"I have all I need." Drogo replied and the Khal nodded.

"Very well, as you are traveling with us, you will share in the raiding and in our food."

"I will, as long as you don't expect me to cook it, my cooking is something that should not be shared with any man." Drogo said and the Khal laughed.

"Very well, we have an agreement." The Khal said and cut open his palm with the arakh, Drogo looked from him to the bloody arakh and cut himself with his own weapon. They pressed their palms together and the Khal smiled. "Get him a horse." He said and a old horse was lead to Drogo, along with a rusty arakh. Drogo looked at the horse and arakh, not saying a word before he untied the strings around the knives, sheathed them and tied the pole to the back of the horse, lashing them down tightly. He wished now that he had thought to ask for a saddlebag, but it was no matter. He hopped into the saddle and nodded to the Khal.

"I am ready." Drogo said and the Khal had a grudging respect in his eyes. Then the Khalasar rode off, they rode for a long time and Drogo was unused to riding, his thighs and backside began to ache. It was not however the pain, or the thirst that got to him, it was the quiet of the warriors around him. In his dreams, he would ride with the other boys and they would laugh and joke together, talking of how they planned to ride a woman when they came of age. Now however it was so quiet around him and the quiet disturbed him, for all it did not show on his face. A young man passed him a water skin and he took a small sip, before handing it back. "Thank you."

"You know, you should pledge yourself to Khal Harl."

"I do not know Khal Harl, your Khalasar was the first I came across, I will not pledge my sword to a man I do not know."

"And you will go on raiding parties with us, how old are you? You look about my age? How do expect any of us to trust you, if you are not blood of our blood?" The boy seemed highly excitable and was getting on Drogo's nerves.

"I would rather not kill a man to break free of this Khalasar, when severing ties should prove necessary."

"You say when and not if, then you plan to leave us eventually?"

"Eventually yes, I am not one that follows naturally." Drogo said and the boy frowned.

"Then who are you?" He demanded and Drogo tossed back his hair.

"I am who I am, but I am still young like you, do you truly know all you are?" Drogo asked.

"No one can ever know all they are." The boy said and Drogo nodded.

"If you said that you did, I would consider you a fool." Drogo said and saw the boy's hands go to his blade.

"You give me insult?" The boy demanded and Drogo shook his head.

"I was merely stating a fact, I did not call you a fool, rather I said that I would think you a fool if you claimed to know yourself now. Do you think I could barrow a rag?" Drogo asked the boy and was handed one, he nodded his thanks, before opening his healing kit and taking out a small bottle of oil, that was supposed to relax muscles. He knew how to prepare the stuff and he could always make more. He took a small amount and poured it on the the rag, before folding the rag in half and starting to clean the blade, he saw the boy tense.

"I can wash this easily enough, after I have finished with it, I won't return it to you in this condition." Drogo said, before going back to working on the blade.

"Have you lived your whole life with the Lamb men, why is your name Drogo, it doesn't sound like one of their names."

"My name is Drogo, because I chose it." Drogo replied and continued to polish the blade.

"You can't choose a name, your mother chooses for you."

"The name she chose, did not suit." Drogo stated and the boy nodded.

"Why do you have silver hair?"

"Why do you have black?" Drogo replied with a question of his own. "My hair is this color because I came out of the womb with this color and most likely will die with it." He said shortly.

"You look like one of us, apart from the hair and eyes, are you sure your mother was your mother?"

"She raised me as such, but I cannot be certain of it, as I don't remember coming out from between her legs. In fact I had often wished as a boy, that she was not my mother."

"Why?"

"She could not understand me, Lhazarene ways are not Dothraki ways. I was punished if I tried to learn how to fight and I hated it in that village."

"But you learned anyway."

"I did, it is part of me, my spirit is that of a horse and not a lamb, regardless of where or how I was born."

"You do not look like a lamb man, how old are you?"

"Sixteen, I will be seventeen in nine moon turns and you?"

"Sixteen, I will be seventeen in five moon turns, I am older."

"You are older, but don't think that it means you are wiser than me."

"Did you know that the time of your birth is similar to the time of Khal Drogo's death and the death of his son, who's mother had silver hair?" The boy asked and Drogo frowned, the boy's questions were making him uncomfortable and they were not the kind a sixteen year old would ask.

"If you do not wish to know for yourself, why did you ask?"

"Young men tell one another things, that they would not tell others." The boy replied and Drogo flipped his hair again.

"Yes, but that is if they know that what they tell each other, will not be spoken to others." Drogo stated.

"I serve my Khalasar, surly you can expect no less of me." The boy said.

"Then why did the Khalasar ask you to do their dirty work for them."

"Because you ride like one of us and its not natural for you to do so." The boy replied and Drogo shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "A warrior could not teach you all this in a short time and there was no sign of his horse."

"It could be he did not have a horse."

"Do you truly expect me to believe that a Dothraki warrior would be without his horse? If he had no horse, then how do you ride? How is it that you know our customs, customs we do not share with outsiders.

"I do not have to answer these questions."

"It would be better for you, if you did."

"And it would be better for you, if you did not ask them."

"You cannot threaten me, not when there are five hundred of us and only one of you!"

"I cannot? I think that you will find that I can, any man has the right to return threat when it is offered and you were threatening me." Drogo said and set aside his arakh starting to braid his hair instead.

"It would be easier for you, if we knew something of you." The boy protested, as Drogo tied his hair back into a warrior's knot.

"I do not see how my past is any of your business, isn't our way to live for the moment?"

"Not if your camp might be threatened by a magic user!"

"I'm not a magic user, I simply know some of the healing arts." Drogo said. "I do not deny that there are magic users in the world, but I am not one of them."

"Prove it, I heard somewhere that magic users give up all pleasures of the flesh, in order to pursue their dark arts."

"If a lamb man wants to learn the secrets of the temple, it is true that he or she gives vows not to lie with another. That does not mean that I would be willing to prove to you that I can function as any other man." Drogo said and raised an eyebrow. "Unless you are one that prefers stallions to mares, I suggest that you stop this line of inquiry unless you wish to be a gelding."

"You dare threaten me and give me insult?" He demanded and Drogo nodded.

"I dare, let it be known that I Drogo do threaten this boy, for suggesting that I show him that which is my choice to display." Drogo said and smiled. "I suggest you stop your questions here boy, there are other acts that magic users of the temple cannot do. Acts that involve the direct taking of life, if I was a magic user and dedicated to the Shepard, why would I risk my vows by going into battle?"

"A magic user took Khal Drogo's life, so there are ways around that." The boy said.

"Really, I do not know the ways of the temple, any more then you do. Still I find it hard to believe that the gods would take kindly to having their vows taken so lightly." Drogo said and shifted slightly in the saddle, moving his horse forward at a trot. He went up to the head of the Khalasar and turned to Khal Harl. "One of your boys is bothering me, if you do not want him to suffer for my insult, I suggest you ask him to leave me alone."

"I hardly think the dispute of boys is something for me to worry about."

"He is starting to anger me."

"Then you should have a tighter control over your temper, you should not approach me and talk to me as if I were your equal!" Khal Harl stated and Drogo glared at him.

"I might not be your equal in skill, or battle yet, that does not mean that you should send boys to anger me. He implied insulting things to me!"

"Well then settle it on your terms, do not involve me in the petty disputes of two boys."

"I will." Drogo said and was about to turn around when they came up on a settlement. Instead he spurred his horse with the others and dismounted from his horse, taking his arakh with him, swinging it experimentally to check the balance. Despite it not being properly cared for, it was a good enough weapon he supposed. Then he had no more time to check, as the war cry sounded and he ran forward with everyone else, into the city. He watched the men from the village stive to defend themselves, even though they had only what few weapons they could bring together. "**It would be better for you, if you just surrendered."**

**"Never!" **A man said striding forward and tried to slash at him with a kitchen knife. Drogo ducked out of the way of the kitchen knife and knew he would have to kill this man, if he did not want to be killed by him. He circled the man, but felt his skin split open from behind, his vision turned to red, all he could see was red and all he could hear was the beating of hearts, which sounded to him like the hooves of horses. One by one they all seemed to stop, the hearts of his enemies forever silenced, He roared his tryamph and went onward, not knowing where he was going, blind to all but the red. The red that filled his vision and the heartbeats of his enemies. All too soon it was over and the threat to him was gone, he felt himself collapse the red turning to black.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

For the first time in his life, Drogo did not dream. He was forced from the darkness and into too bright light, it hurt his eyes and he groaned, before leaping to his feet, looking around for his sword. "Easy Drogo, everything is alright, you did very well." The Khal said. "You should have told me that you were a horse dancer."

"A what?" Drogo asked and the Khal sighed.

"You have never had your blood spilt before today?" Khal Harl asked and Drogo frowned.

"Only in my dreams, but that doesn't happen in my dreams." He said, confused and tired, so tired and dizzy.

"What happens in your dreams?"

"That is personal, I need to make sure my wound will heal." Drogo said and stood up staggering slightly, his back throbbed with pain. He winced as he took off his shirt, it was stained red, he wondered vaguely how much of that blood was his own. He looked around him and realized that he was in a camp and saw his healing kit nearby a group of other warriors. He went over to it and saw the alarm in their eyes and the respect. He wondered what had happened after he had been injured, he had no idea how his clothes and body had been stained with blood. He was covered in it, but he was a warrior and he would be a poor one, if being soaked in blood bothered him. He went to his healing kit and pulled out the bottle of spirits. he hesitated, before deciding that he would need water, before he needed the spirits and poultice to draw out the bad humors. "Can I have some water?" He asked the warriors and was handed a water skin, its owner stared as he poured the water on bandages and wiped at the blood, most of the blood was dried, but some was fresh and he washed off his back where he felt the pain of his wound, there was too much blood, the wound needed stitches and he could hardly sow up his own back. It was a four inch gash across his back, it ended abruptly, as if something or someone had stopped it from going further.

"Are there any women that can sow up flesh?" Drogo asked and the men stared at him in shock.

"Why would you sow your wound?" One warrior asked.

"If the stitches are tight enough, it will hold the wound closed and help it to heal. Though you need special thread, which has been boiled and needles that have been boiled as well." Drogo said and winced. "I can't sow my own wound."

"Let it close naturally."

"Its too big to close naturally, it will heal more easily if its sowed up."

"I doubt a woman would be willing to sow flesh and only a woman would know sowing." The man said and Drogo frowned.

"Very well do you have two mirrors then?" Drogo asked and was handed two mirrors. "Can one of you hold one by my back and another in front of my shoulder?" He said and nodded when he saw his back, it looked as bad as he had thought. He was surprised that it was as shallow as it was and he supposed that he was lucky that the man had been inexperienced. Still he couldn't reach the wound very well, he took out a length of string and cut it at a foot, before threading the needle. He splashed alcohol over the wound and over the needle and thread, wincing at the sting. He tied a knot in the thread and started to sow. It was hard to do, as he had trouble reaching across his back, but he managed it in the end. "My thanks."

"You are welcome." The man replied and Drogo nodded.

"So how much longer will we rest here?" Drogo asked.

"As long as is needed, not many were injured and we captured many slaves. It was a good raid, but it should be a while before we ride out."

"Why, shouldn't we continue to ride?"

"Could you stay in the saddle?" One of the warriors asked and Drogo glared at him.

"Of course I can keep my seat."

"You ride well, but its obvious to everyone that you haven't done it often."

"I would not fall, I do not see why everyone holds back for my sake."

"You killed twenty people, by yourself! I have never seen anything like it, your blade was a blur!" The warrior said and Drogo stared at the man, he had killed fifty men, how was that even possible. He swayed slightly on his feet, before catching himself and sitting down. "Have some more water, or some wine if you prefer."

"No wine, I would do without it." Drogo said.

"At least take your rest Drogo." Another warrior said. "We will watch your back, you saved my younger brother this day." He said and Drogo nodded, he didn't wish to sleep but his eyes closed seemingly of their accord and he fell into blackness.

_The first warrior he had ever faced, was five years older then him and had gone on a raid before. They faced off against each other in the circle, with wooden arakhs in hand. People yelled and cheered around them, making wagers on the result of the match. They did not pay attention to that, but rather to the circle, only to the circle. They moved around one another, their footing sure and steady. They were careful not to make too much sound, to not give their position away. They circled each other and Drogo felt a fierce joy. It did not matter to him that this was only a practice battle still, what mattered was that they were both warriors grown now and he no longer fought against the other boys. The other boys that presented no challenge to him perhaps this match would be different.  
_

Drogo gasped and sat bolt upright as he woke up, he easily popped to his feet and stretched his back experimentally. The skin felt much better and he managed to hide his pain. He then went over to his horse.

"This is not for you, take my mount and I will ride yours." The boy from earlier said and Drogo frowned.

"Why do you wish to give me your mount?"

"Whether you were conscious or not, you saved my life in the attack. Your share of the profits from the slaves will come in time, but I would give you this thing, one warrior to another."

"I accept the gift, maybe we can fight a friendly practice..." He saw how the boy paled.

"You can't fight practice matches."

"Why not?" Drogo asked.

"Because if someone drew your blood..."

"What happens if someone draws my blood?"

"You do not know of the horse heart warriors? It is known that warriors that are the chosen of the Great Stallion have his protection, but that protection comes at a price. Whenever someone draws blood from a horse heart warrior, the warrior will fall into the blood letting, where he will kill all his enemies and not awaken from it until his enemies are slain."

"What if those enemies are not where the warrior is?"

"Then he will go to where they are and will not stop killing, until their hearts stop beating. Such men often make many enemies, but they seldom die an unatural death."

"And is there any way to control this blessing of the Great Stallion?" Drogo demanded.

"Did it seem like a thing you could control, you are welcome to try if you wish, but very few have ever been able to master the stallion that rides them." The boy replied and Drogo nodded.

"I will take your horse, but I will win another for you." Drogo said and stroked the mane of the horse, before braiding it.

"The Khal decided that you should have saddlebags, they have been filled with everything you need.

"Thank you." Drogo said and examined the saddle bags, he looked through what he had been given. There were sleeping furs, a small tent and enough of the horse jerkey to last him a month. However there weren't any healing herbs. Drogo decided to go to the Shepard's house, after all there was little they could do to him, he was a warrior and if they tried anything, the Khalasar would take their lives. He found the temple of the Shepard and entered it. It was abandoned, but no one had burned it yet. He went over to a cupboard filled with herbs and healing supplies looked through them, taking what he knew how to use and leaving behind what he didn't.

He walked back out to the khalasar and noticed the other warriors staring at him. He went over to his saddlebags and packed the supplies. "Witches magic." The boy breathed and Drogo shook his head.

"The herbs themselves are not magic, though those that are pledged to the Shepard are trained in the sacred arts, I have no such training." He informed the boy. "All these herbs do is to heal sick men."

"Isn't that magic?"

"No, if only it could be that easy, it takes skill and time to heal a wound. Speaking of which I should change my bandages." He said and picked up the healing kit, walking over to the same warriors he had seen before. "Can you hold up the mirrors for me again?" He asked and both men nodded reluctantly. He peeled back the bandages and barely managed not to make a sound, as he rinsed off the herbs with water, before dosing it with the burning spirits. He then used more water to place a new poultice on his back, pleased that the wound wasn't discolored. He would have to be careful within the next few days, to make sure it wouldn't become infected. He wrapped the new bandages tightly around his chest and back. "Thank you."

"It looks better then it should." One of the warriors said and Drogo nodded.

"The herbs speed the healing, but you need to know which herbs to use. Some herbs don't do anything for a wound, while others harm it. You need to know how and when to use the herbs, though I only really know about half of all there is to know." Drogo shrugged elegantly. He didn't like having blood in his hair, but there was no supply of water nearby. He realized then that he had forgotten to pack a brush, when he had gone out to face the Khalasar. He went back into the empty villages, wondering for a moment, why it hadn't been sacked and only the people had been taken from it. He searched through each of the homes, until he found a brush and clothing that fit well enough. He decided to look for the well that this town must have been built around. He found the well and pulled up several buckets of water, carefully reusing it, as he washed the blood from his skin and hair. When the water turned a reddish brown, he tossed it out and filled the bucket again. He finished washing himself and brushed out his hair, braiding it and tying it back. He felt much better for getting the blood off of him and the new clothing. His old clothes were ruined, he wondered briefly what had happened to his shirt, but decided that it didn't matter.

He tossed the water on the street and filled another bucket. He then carried the bucket to where his horse was waiting and let it drink. "You are trusting to believe that the well is not poisoned." The boy said.

"Did they have time to poison the well?" Drogo returned and the boy frowned, before shaking his head. "All those that would have poisoned the well, I would have killed, wouldn't I?" He asked stroking the horse's back, as it drank.

"You should still not be so trusting of wells." The warrior rebuked. "Or of your talents, to rely on such is foolishness." He said and then paused, realizing that perhaps he shouldn't be berating Drogo like he was any other young warrior.

"Thank you for your advice." Drogo said. "I will follow it in future." The warrior nodded.

"We will stay here for a day more, to celebrate our victory." The warrior told Drogo and Drogo nodded, before taking out the tent and setting it up, it was small but serviceable. He laid out the bed roll and ate some of the jerky. It was boring with nothing to do but wait for them to ride out once more, yet he remembered what it had been like to take his first woman and he didn't want the battle it involved. He wasn't fond of the screams of women and had decided, as he had in his dreams that he would more or less not seek the company of tribute women, but instead wait until he had enough spoils to get a wife. A wife might resist him at first, but in time she wouldn't, or at least he hoped that was the case.

Still there wasn't much entertainment in his tent and he decided to go to sleep and dream of his other life. He cleaned off his blade and having nothing better to do, threw himself face down on the furs and fell asleep.


End file.
